Minutes passed. Five. Ten.
Zach didn’t look at the housing feed. Didn’t need to. Didn’t want to.
When he glanced up again, the staff housing camera was back on the main screen.
He stilled. He didn’t remember switching it. Didn’t remember pulling it back up. The muscle in his jaw twitched. For a long moment, he just watched. The bungalow remained quiet. No movement. No shadows. No sign of anything out of place.
Safe.
For now.
He leaned back in his chair. Didn’t look away.
Didn’t bother lying to himself about why. He already knew.
Chapter 9
Protective Custody
Emma steppedout of the shower to hear her phone ring.
She wrapped the towel around herself, padding across the cool tile floor. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, tracing slow paths down her spine, cooling against skin that still held the heat of the water. Humidity still clung to the air despite the overhead fan spinning lazy circles.
Through the window, the sky was melting into shades of coral and gold. Evening on Isla Nocturna felt like exhaling—the frenetic energy of the day softening into something quieter.
Emma glanced at the screen.
Kate Danvers (Almost Ivory)
A smile curved her lips. Kate rarely called just to chat, but when she did, it was always worthwhile. Emma swiped to answer, tucking the phone against her shoulder as she reached for her robe.
“Kate, hi?—”
“Emma, tell me you’re somewhere safe.”
Her smile died.
Emma froze—not only physically, but mentally, like something inside her had been caught mid-step. Kate’s voice was tight. Controlled, but threaded with urgency.
“I—yes. I’m home in my bungalow. Why?”
Kate exhaled, but the tension in her voice didn’t ease. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Emma’s pulse kicked up a notch. She slipped the robe on, tying the belt with hands that didn't work quite right. “What do you mean?”
“Emma,” Kate’s tone sharpened. Not unkind, but uncompromising. “Don’t make me pull it out of you. Something happened.”
A chill skittered down Emma’s spine despite the warm air.
How did Kate know?
She had only told Morgan, who’d texted Zach, and he didn’t speak. Or maybe he did? He might have told Nick…
She wrenched her mind back to what mattered—what she’d been ignoring—crossed to the small dining table, and sank into a chair. The wood was smooth beneath her damp hands. Outside, palm fronds rustled in the evening breeze.
“There was… a note,” Emma admitted. “Left at my door. Yesterday morning.”
Silence on the other end. Then Kate asked, “What kind of note?”
